Conjunction
by Shade5
Summary: Father and daughter are drawn together by seemingly insignificant details that haunt them both.


Summary: Father and daughter are drawn together by seemingly insignificant details that haunt them both.  
  
Spoilers: Almost Thirty Years  
  
Rating: PG  
  
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Conjunction  
  
by Shade  
  
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Hieroglyphics were never a strong point for Sydney Bristow.  
  
She silently sifts through the pages of her book, absently taking note of a symbol here and there, knowing she will not remember any of them tomorrow.  
  
Recognizing the futility of her efforts, she lets the book slip to the carpeted floor.  
  
She reaches for the glass of merlot on the coffee table. She drinks it to be classy, but most of the time she just craves a cold beer.  
  
Tonight is one of those nights. Sydney looks into the glass and carelessly swishes the rich wine around in circles.  
  
Closing her eyes, she inhales its scent, pleasing her sense of smell with the intoxication.  
  
Before she knows what she is doing, the glass has shattered against the wall next to the fireplace, the wine trickling down the white wall like blood leaving its painful stain. The jumping shadows cast by the fire play cruel tricks on Sydney's mind as the wine makes its way slowly to the floor.  
  
Her sobs cause her to shake, and she rocks back and forth with her realization.  
  
Her mother loved merlot.  
  
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Jack Bristow sits outside of his daughter's house, hidden by the shadows of his black Lincoln Towncar.  
  
He does not how long he has waited.  
  
When he hears the glass break, his stomach becomes a discombobulated tangle of knots.  
  
He has not tasted the sweet simplicity of merlot in years. After Laura left, he refused to let it grace his taste buds, though they have yearned for it. His forehead burrows as he wonders if his mouth really craved merlot, or just the taste of Laura.  
  
Although he cannot see her, the glow from the fireplace allows him to see a silhouette of his daughter. She is shaking.  
  
Knowing that she has broken, Jack pulls out from the curb and disappears into the darkness.  
  
He does not notice the tear silently rolling down his cheek.  
  
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Sydney can remember her mother coming home from a long day and sinking into a chair, a glass of merlot in her hand to ease her.  
  
The memory is so vivid that she is at a loss to understand how she could have forgotten about her mother's favorite drink for so many years.  
  
She pulls herself up and wipes the tears from her eyes. She looks around, afraid that what she sees will confirm her fears.  
  
The scattered personnel files - some SD-6, some CIA; the book on hieroglyphics; the tube of lipstick that really isn't; the box of hair dye - blonde this time. And, of course, the merlot.  
  
Sydney Bristow cries noiselessly, the silence being the meeting point of a happy cry and a cathartic one. She is her mother's daughter.  
  
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Jack's car is the only one in the parking lot outside of Ralph's supermarket. The store closed hours earlier, and the darkened parking lot off of Ventura Boulevard provides a comforting niche away from the commotion of a Friday night in Los Angeles.  
  
He pulls out his wallet, the dim interior lights of the Lincoln providing barely enough for him to see its contents. Disregarding credit cards and various identifications, he goes straight for the picture. It is buried in one of the interior folds, rarely removed, yet soothing for Jack to know that it is there. It is the only picture he carries.  
  
Successful in his search, he stares at the picture for a long time and thinks.  
  
Sydney, an infant, stares happily back at him, while a younger Laura lovingly cradles her.  
  
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Sydney blinks away her tears as she reaches into her pocket for her wallet.  
  
Fumbling, she finally pulls out the tattered picture from its crevice behind her driver's license. After her mother "died," it had been imperative for Sydney to carry the picture with her everywhere; after she started learning the truth she merely carried it out of habit and heartache.  
  
In the beginning, she had refused to believe her mother was a bad person. The picture would comfort her. The image of her mother looking so caringly, lovingly, at her as a baby would reassure Sydney that such an affectionate, tender woman could not possibly be evil.  
  
But she was.  
  
Sydney wipes a tear from her cheek, and gently touches her mother's image with her damp fingertip before throwing the picture into the hungry fire.  
  
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Jack slips the picture back into its secure fold. He has tried numerous times to get rid of the picture, to "accidentally" rip it in half, to leave it somewhere, to just throw it away, but has never been able to bring himself to do any of these.  
  
Now that he knows the truth, he wants to get rid it more than ever, yet it is harder than before to just do so. The reason why is a mystery to him. His head goes in circles coming up with various reasons, explanations, excuses, but always to end up where he started.  
  
He sighs, foolishly thinking that maybe some of the complexities in his head will escape with his exhalation.  
  
He turns the key in the ignition and heads back to Sydney's house.  
  
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She knows she should clean up the merlot and the broken glass, but lacks the energy to do so. Besides, the wine has already stained the wall.  
  
Sinking back into the couch, defeated, she curls up. Before long she is restless and pacing the room.  
  
She lingers by the phone for a minute, debating on whether or not to call her father. He is the only one who would understand her emotions, yet she thinks he seems above such trivial details as a glass of merlot, and so she decides not to.  
  
This is when she hears the car slowly roll to a stop in front of her house.  
  
Thinking it is Francie coming home, she frantically gathers all of her spy files and gadgets off the floor and throws them in a drawer in her bedroom. She rushes to open the door, to try and convince Francie to go back out for a bit, so that she can attempt to clean the wine stain before Francie finds out about it.  
  
Flinging the door open, she finds her father staring back at her.  
  
They share an awkward silence until Sydney realizes why he is there. Her broad shoulders slump into a sigh, and tears stream down her face as she lets everything out. He wraps her in his arms, gently. She is surprised by her father's sudden embrace, but gladly returns it.  
  
She and her father were once two random pawns in the same game, acknowledging each other's presences, distantly caring about each other, but never true allies.  
  
In her father's arms, a small grin emerges on Sydney's face as she realizes that they are finally in this endless battle together. And that makes her future a little less scary.  
  
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The End. 


End file.
